


"I Thought You Said Hobbits Don't Go On Adventures?" "Something Made Me Change My Mind"

by ShakeThatCocktail



Category: The Hobbit
Genre: Journey, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 23:49:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShakeThatCocktail/pseuds/ShakeThatCocktail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a disastorous second meeting, Bilbo decides to join the dwarves on their quest back to Erebor. Along the way, a quikc-forming romance blossoms between Thorin And Bilbo, no thanks to Fili and Kili</p>
            </blockquote>





	"I Thought You Said Hobbits Don't Go On Adventures?" "Something Made Me Change My Mind"

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic so don't be too judgemental and I would love it of you posted comments on what you want to happen. DOn't be too upset if you love it and it ends quickly, i'm still qorking on it x

Bilbo woke up to streaming sunlight coming through his window. As he tried to rise, his sheets held him down in a tangled mmass around his small body. He collapsed after a few seconds of struggling, making him realise something- he couldn’t hear the dwarves! No banging, no laughter, no heavt bootsteps. They must’ve left in the night after their solemn singing had lulled him to sleep. Bilbo jumped out of bed, linked his thumbs through his braces and doing a little dance of glee. He walked jauntily down the hall, past the main room with it’s large fireplace and comfy chairs and on into the kitchen. Nothing could spoil his good mood.

“You seem happy, Master Baggins,” a deep voice said behind him, and Bilbo jumped, whirling around to see who the speaker was. Sitting in a chair next to the fireplace was Thorin, Son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain. Bilbo’s heart fluttered. Thorin smiled inwardly and the hobbit’s startled reaction and the pale pink blush that swept through his neck to his cheeks. He remembered the way his voice stuttered as he answered questions and the way he kept fussing over the dwarves. He found it quite endearing, providing he’d only known him for a few small hours, and most of those spent on the other members of his company.

“What…how-ho-how d-did you… doing here?” Bilbo stuttered, taking in Thorin’s plain black tunic, leather trousers and proud royal blue coat and comparing them to his own plain and ruffled cream shirt and threadbare brown trousers. He saw Thorin’s fur-trimmed cloak on the floor beside the chair he was sitting in.

“I came to make sure you hadn’t changed your mind about joining our quest back to Erebor,” Thorin said, rising from his chair and taking a few heavy strides towards the hobbit. He stopped, standing so close to Bilbo that his breath parted the front of the hobbit’s curly brown head.

“I know you didn’t want me to come,” Bilbo said, still a little hurt at Thorin’s open rejection of him at the meeting the previous night. “And, anyway, I have no intention of coming. I’m a hobbit and we don’t belong on adventures.” He looked up into Thorin’s eyes, matching them with his soft brown ones. Thorin’s eyes darkened as he saw his rejection in Bilbo’s words.

“Master Baggins,” he began firmly. “I never said I did not wish for you to come. I said that I wouldn’t be able to guarentee your safety and that I could not afford your blood on my hands if something happened to you.” He placed his hands on the hobbit’s shoulders and he felt the little hobbit tremble at his touch.

“Why would you allow your own people to die for a cause and not someone you do not care about?” Bilbo asked, his voice quiet, his eyes still locked onto Thorin’s ice-blue ones. He watched different emotions flicker across them; confusion, desparation, care.

“That is not necessarily true, Master Baggins,” Thorin said sadly, his voice no more than a rumble. He turned away, his heavy boots clunking out a constant rhythmn as he went out the front door and closed it with a sharp bang. Bilbo looked after him, struck dumb and still by Thorin’s words. His shoulders were still tingling from where Thorin had placed his hands and his heart fluttered like bird in a cage. He noticed that Thorin had left his cloak behind on the floor. He picked it up, working his fingers across the rough, but beautiful, knotwork pattern sewn into in. It felt like Thorin- rough and well-used. In a split-second decision, he snatched up the agreement written by Balin off the table and hurtled out the door, not caring about being seen in his night clothes.

“Thorin! Thorin!” he yelled at the top of his voice, bolting down the pathways and grassy banks to the edge of Bag End.

 

Thorin was mounting his pony, trying to pull it’s head from the hedge it was eating, when he heard someone yelling his name.

“Thorin! Thorin!” he heard, fast footsteps becoming louder as the speaker came closer. A small shape in brown hurtled past the small lane he was hiding in, yelling his name until it was cut short by a loud thump. Thoring nudged his pony out into the lane and caught sight of the little brown figure in a heap on the floor. He jumped off his steed and ran towards the crumpled Bilbo. Just beside him lay Thorin’s cloak. covered in a thin smattering of dust, and the agreement. Thorin turned him over and Bilbo groaned, letting out a small sigh. His eyes were closed.

“Bilbo!” Thorin cried. Only then did he notice the thin trickle of blood coming from a cut on Bilbo’s forehead, the blood mixing with his curls. “Oh no!” Thorin went pale. He picked up the little hobbit in his arms, crushing him to his body and carried him to his pony. He placed Bilbo in the saddle and climbed in behind him, pressing against him to keep him secure. Even in the disastorous consequences, Thorin’s body tingled being within such intimate and close proximity to the little hobbit.

He rode fast to the edge of the Shire, where the dwarves were camping for the night. Dwalin saw their king approaching and said, “The king is returning! And it appears the hobbit is joining us!” All the dwarves gathered round, including Bofur, who was completely content with napping. Thorin slowed his pony and jumped out the saddle, carrying Bilbo to the small gathering of dwarves.

“Help him!” he yelled, his voice thunderous. Balin stepped forward, his smily face obscured by his not-completely groomed moustache, and examined the cut.

“Don’t fret, laddie! The cut is shallow and will heal in no time,” Balin comforted. As if on queue, Bilbo groaned and Thorin instinctivly held him tighter. The gesture did not go unseen by Fili, who looked curiously at his uncle. Bilbo tried to touch his head, but Balin pushed his hand down. He could feel a warm chest and strong arms around him and he groaned again.

“Thorin, you can put him down now, I think,” a soothing but rough voice said. He linked it to Dwalin, Thorin’s right-hand man, the dwarf with tattoos covering his head. Bilbo’s eyes snapped open and he looked up into the face of Thorin, his eyes full of concern and caution.

“Argh!” Bilbo cried, and he tumbled out of Thorin’s arms. The company of dwarves began to laugh as Bofur cried,

“Don’t worry, Thorin! You’re not that ugly!”

Balin looked down pityingly at the hobbit and Dwalin uttered a short, but low chuckle.

“C’mon laddie, let’s help you,” Balin said, his old, warm voice washing over Bilbo’s confused senses. Bilbo rubbed his head and winced. Thorin helped him over to a nearby tree stump, trying not to touch Bilbo too much, but also trying to not let the hobbit’s shaky legs get the better of him.

“My head…” Bilbo groaned. “What happened?”

“I do believe you were returning my cloak and agreement to me,” Thorin said, holding out his clock and agreement. Thorin took a quick glance at the agreement to check that it was what he though it was and his gaze stopped dead. “You signed it,” he said quietly, his voice thick with a hundred different emotions. His cool eyes met Bilbo’s warm brown ones.

“I did,” Bilbo said, Thorin not believing him until the words were out. Thorin’ heart leapt for the little hobbit, yet part of his mind began to worry.

“I thought you said hobbits don’t go on adventures?” he asked, wincing himself in time with Bilbo’s wince as Balin pressed a damp cloth against the still weeping cut.

“Something made me change my mind,” the hobbit said quietly, not looking at Thorin. Thorin stopped breathing. Did he understand the little hobbit right? Had the little hobbit come along on this journey for him? Thorin nodded stiffly and walked away, leaving Balin to describe the route of their journey ahead to Bilbo.

The rest of the dwarves were gathered around the campfire, laughing and talking and slurping down bowls of stew. A few shot cautious looks at the hobbit.

“Will he be alright, Uncle?” Kili asked and Thorin sat down. Thorin grunted and accepted a bowl from Dori. Kili looked at his brother.

“Something’s wrong with Uncle, Fili,” he said and Fili grinned knowingly.

“Isn’t it obvious, brother?” Fili asked, and he sighed when his brother shook his head. “Uncle like the hobbit!”

“We all like Mister Boggins,” Kili said, confused at his brother’s laughter.

“Nonono! Uncle LIKES him!” Fili repeated, adding emphasis to his statement. Kili’s eyes became as wide as swimming pools. They both looked at their uncle, who was busy slurping down a bowl of stew, and Bilbo, who was still talking to Balin on the treestump. “We need to do something,” he said and they both smiled conspiratorially. Two strong hands clamped down on their shoulders and they both jumped. Dwalin’s stern face looked down at them.

“No you won’t. You let your uncle deal with this himself,” he said. The brothers pouted and went back to their dinner, still both grinning from ear-to-ear. Dwalin decided to keep an eye on them for the rest of the evening…just in case.


End file.
